The bass from the ballroom thirty floors down vibrates through the soles of my feet. It’s a rhythmic, thumping reminder that tonight, the city is celebrating the end of my freedom. The Bachelor Party. A tradition of booze, strippers, and excess that my brothers organized with gleeful precision.
I’m pacing the penthouse suite of the Nikolaides Hotel, clutching the shredded remains of my teddy bear. I need to tell him. I need to tell Stavros about the bug. About the spy in my childhood bedroom.
Click.
The lock turns.
I spin around, hiding the bear behind a cushion.
Stavros walks in. He shouldn't be here. He should be downstairs, holding a glass of scotch, surrounded by women paid to smile.
He looks furious. He’s loosened his tie, his collar unbuttoned, his jacket thrown over one should
